An Ideal Death-Eater

Authour's Notes: I'd like to thank Claire and Alexis both for their time and effort. If it wasn't for them, AIDE wouldn't be here and it certainly would have many more mistakes in it. :) In the original version of this chapter, before OotP was released, Narcissa's maiden name was Emeric. But since we know from OotP that that simply isn't canon, I've changed it to Black. To be honest, that made me quite happy since it makes a minor plot point later that much easier to fit into canon. This begins book two of AIDE.

An Ideal Death Eater, Book Two

What care I for fortune or fame?
They never mattered a lot.
I don't have a right to complain,
As long as I've got what I've got.
~ Dorothy Dandridge

Draco stared out the window, bored stiff.

It had been a week since his father's death and he was due back at school soon. Lucius' funeral had been the day before, and the Ministry was still in the process of ‘cleansing' Malfoy Manor. Draco smothered a laugh, thinking of the hidden torture chamber and how many items and books on the Dark Arts they were carting away. His father was likely rolling in his grave at the thought that Malfoy Manor had been raided again.

The Ministry had been very interested to hear Draco singing like a bird as his mother watched him with her stony gaze. He didn't know much about his father's personal affairs, but it didn't take a genius to figure out the man's password to the vault under the drawing room floor: Morsmordre.

And Lucius thought he wasn't paying attention at all those Death Eater meetings.

The Aurors were having a blast, to be sure; digging through Malfoy possessions like greedy scavengers. But Draco had managed to save a few books from the fire.

His father's journals.

Draco hadn't had a chance to thoroughly read them yet, but just by skimming the pages, he knew that they were his only chance to understand what was happening to him.

The solicitor cleared his throat then, pulling Draco away from his thoughts. Father had proved his characteristic arrogance even in death when they realised he had never written a will.

Perhaps that was a good thing.

"The estate hearing for Rosier Lucius Malfoy will now commence." The elderly man boomed out importantly, even though there were only two people in the room to hear him.

Draco watched his mother stiffen at mention of his father's name while Draco himself remained unperturbed. He just wanted to go back to sleep; intelligent people weren‘t awake at ten o' clock in the morning.

"Since no will was written by the deceased, Benderblott's Intestacy Rules dictate the Ministry's distribution of the Malfoy Estate as follows." The solicitor cleared his throat once more and Draco groaned, wondering if he'd ever be able to leave at the rate the man was going. It wasn't as if they didn't know that Lucius didn't write a will.

"To Narcissa Adele Black Malfoy, the sum of one hundred and twenty-five thousand Galleons and her personal effects, plus one hundred and eighty-seven thousand, five hundred Galleons, eight Sickles, and fourteen Knuts to be put into trust from which she may draw interest. Upon her death, said trust will be inherited by her son, Black Draco Malfoy."

Draco could see the muscles along his mother's jaw twitching, but he said nothing. He knew that it made her furious to hear that her son would benefit from her death. He almost smiled.

"And to Black Draco Malfoy, in addition to Mond-Beleuchtetes Wasserhaus in Chalfont St Giles, the sum of one hundred and eighty-seven thousand, five hundred Galleons, eight Sickles, and fourteen Knuts."

Oh wasn't it a joy, he'd get that rotten manor house out in the middle of bloody nowhere. He'd have to change the name now; Mond-Beleuchtetes Wasserhaus was far too German sounding for his tastes. And his family wasn't even from Germany. Hadn't the Muggle royalty changed their name from Hanover to the more British ‘Windsor' during some war? He'd never been one for Muggle Studies; even it was a required course. Besides, Draco preferred the simpler ‘Malfoy Manor'. At least he wasn't poor though, and he didn't have to wait for his money either since he'd turned seventeen in November.

Two weeks before, he'd fallen from his broom and crashed through the roof of the Weasley home. Had he really only been there a week? It seemed as if he'd been there forever. Not that the experience was completely unpleasant, but Draco was glad to be gone from there and back in the world where he belonged.

The solicitor droned on and on about stupid things, the important bit was over already and Draco blotted the man's voice out until it was necessary for him to sign the appropriate documents. Which he did.

Draco stood and reached into his pocket for a cigarette, enclosed in the silver case he'd bought for himself. His mother gave him a dirty look as they left the solicitor's office, but he couldn't care less.

When he had finally come home to the manor, telling her the news of his father's death and bringing with him scores upon scores of Aurors, she had slapped him across the face for the first time in his life and pronounced him no longer worthy to be her son.

Well, there went those lovely packages of sweets he was used to getting that kept him through the school year. She still stayed with him though; in the hotel suite he'd rented for them in Vertices Alley. The woman was full of contradictions.

Things weren't the same between them now. Before she would always ask after his welfare, make sure that he had enough warm cloaks for school, and dutifully sent him little presents during the year. Draco knew that it was loneliness more than anything that had prompted her to do this. Affection wasn't in her vocabulary. She had wanted her son close, because she had wanted someone to talk to and sympathise with her many ‘illnesses'.

Now she wouldn't even speak to him.

That was fine with Draco. He didn't know whether he would be able to fake concern for her sicknesses anyway, he was more worried about himself. Now that he thought about it though, it was a blessing in disguise that of all the roofs he'd tumbled through, he had tumbled through the Weasleys'. If he wasn't there to see his father die, if he hadn't been vouched for by Mr Weasley, he could very well have looked forward to being ‘imprisoned pending investigation' by the Ministry for all the illegal Dark Arts materials at Malfoy Manor. As it was, Draco professed his willingness to ‘help' and everything had gone smooth as cream; they even allowed his mother to stay out of prison.

The famous Malfoy-Weasley feud had gone on for a century at least, so when Arthur Weasley stepped forward to defend a Malfoy, the Ministry couldn't do anything but listen. The man had even told Draco once again how proud he was of his ‘bravery' and that he was always welcome at the Burrow. Draco stifled a derisive laugh; Mr Weasley wouldn't have said that if he'd any idea that his precious daughter was getting banged on the second landing while Aurors carted Death Eaters out of the kitchen.

In the end, everything worked out to Mr Weasley's advantage. He was still officially on leave due to Percy's death, but when he returned to work, it would be to a larger office and a better job. All thanks to the fact that his runty little son was good with a knife and Arthur himself seemed to be very ‘diplomatic' with hostile people.

Draco narrowed his eyes as he crossed the street with his mother and led the way to a small, quiet pub for them to have brunch. He almost smiled at the look of haughty disgust on his mother's face when she realised that they would be eating there. There was a time when he would have mirrored her expression, but those days had passed. The pub was clean and there were very few patrons, so it suited his needs. Plus he wanted to eat something of substance instead of the delicate foods available on the hotel's menu.

He found a small booth for them to sit in and scanned the menu, ignoring his mother's glare. If she wouldn't speak, that was fine, he would order then.

"Two pork and cider pies," Draco told the menu. "And two pints of butterbeer."

At this last, Narcissa actually flinched and Draco had to fight a grin. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you wish to order, Mother?"

Still she said nothing, turning her head away so that she didn't have to see their plates and cups pop up from the table. Narcissa's silver eyes squeezed shut, her face pinched and wounded. Draco picked up his fork and sighed, jabbing first at the cover of his pie and then at his mashed potatoes. He really was hungry, but at the same time—

"Don't play with your food," Narcissa snapped suddenly, pulling out a scented handkerchief to hold over her nose.

Draco lifted his head. "Oh, you're talking now I see."

Her eyes were cold over the cloth she held to her face and she whispered from behind it harshly. "Why did you bring me here? This place is as common as a goblin and I refuse to eat a bite of—" She pointed a thin finger at the pie as if it were a pile of dung. "That whatever it is."

"It's called a pie, Mother. Perhaps you've heard of it? If not, you really need to get out of the Manor more often." Draco lifted his fork and took a very deliberate bite, watching her the entire time. It was a good pie, but he'd tasted much better. The way it tasted only mattered so much though; he wasn't about to let the woman ruin his appetite now that he had one again.

Narcissa flickered her eyes between the pie and his face before settling for somewhere on the table. Her eyelids drooped a little and her skin paled even further if it were possible. Draco rolled his eyes. He was honestly curious about how she managed to make herself look that sick in the space of a minute.

"Oh Draco, what did they do to you? You act as if— as if you're no longer proud of your heritage."

"I'm proud, Mother; believe me I'm proud," Draco whispered harshly. "But I'm not stupid. After what Father did— do you really think our name hasn't been tarnished enough? It was bad before, but people were forgetting; they didn't remember anymore why they cursed our name. They didn't remember the hundreds of witches and wizards we sent screaming into their graves centuries ago."

He paused for a moment when he realised that he was losing control and his voice had risen to where anyone in the pub could have easily heard him speaking. Draco sucked in a breath and reined his anger before continuing on in a more neutral tone.

"But now they know why they hate us so much, Mother. Everywhere I go they pull their children close and mutter protective charms under their breath. I don't mind the awe or the fear, but it's bloody annoying when they throw things through the fecking windows while I‘m sleeping."

"Don't speak to me—"

"I'll speak to you however I please, now that you're actually talking back instead of ignoring me." Draco put his palms flat on the table and leaned forward. "What did he make you do, Mother? Go on, you can tell me. Did he pass you around to his friends? Or did he save the lady of the manor for his master alone?"

There was a resounding crack as Narcissa's hand struck his face for the second time in his life. "How dare you! You have no pride, you are not loyal, you don't even bleed the same colour as I do anymore," she whispered loudly despite the stares from the pub's patrons. "You aren't my son at all. You're acting like Luc—" She stopped and was silent for a moment, her breathing laboured.

Draco turned his head back and gazed at her, his eyes burning with fury. People had always said that he resembled his father, that he was an exact replica in fact. But seeing his mother now, her face fierce and sharp angled with quiet rage, he didn't know how anyone could possibly say that. A feminised mirror image silently battled with him until one finally relented. Narcissa shrank back across the table, but not fast enough to avoid Draco's hand as it snaked out to grab her arm, his knuckles whitening with the strength of his grip.

"Be careful, Mother," Draco hissed. "Or I'll toss you out on your arse quicker than you can blink."

"You wouldn't dare," she replied in all confidence.

He lifted one corner of his mouth in a sneer. "I can do much more than dare now that I'm the master of Malfoy Manor." Draco relaxed his face into something more closely resembling a smile, releasing her arm. "Now do eat up, Mother. After all, you need your strength if you're going to walk back to the hotel."

*~*~*~*~*

Harry sighed as he looked out of a window in the Gryffindor common room. He and Hermione had been there a week already and school wasn't due to start until after the weekend was over.

It had been nice with just Hermione and the odd Gryffindor around. There were only three other people who had stayed over the holidays and they were all much younger, so they gave a wide berth to their elders.

Hermione slept in his bed since there were no other seventh year boys around to comment on it, and no seventh year girls, for that matter. It had been a wild celebration all over the school since they had gotten back and Harry was more than just a little sick of it. He had even seen Professor Flitwick dancing about in the halls like a child, shooting multi-coloured sparks from his wand into the air. One thing that bothered him, though, was his visit to Dumbledore the day they came back to Hogwarts.

Harry thought he saw something kindle the man's eyes for a moment before it was promptly squashed back down and he had told Harry and Hermione to go back to Gryffindor tower and rest. Hermione said that she hadn't noticed, but the possibility that he might have disappointed Dumbledore with his rash actions haunted Harry almost as much as his last conversation with Mr Weasley.

He stood up from the window ledge and sat on the sofa, gazing into the grate as he allowed the memories of that day to wash over him. The day he and Hermione had returned from Ottery St Catchpole to find the Burrow in a frenzy of activity. Aurors were everywhere, surrounding the house and stomping their way through the garden. If it hadn't have been for the scar on his forehead, they wouldn't have even let them onto the property.

The kitchen was a disaster area. Death Eaters were being petrified and floated into one corner to be tied together. And then he saw the bodies.

The first one was Percy, laid out on the kitchen table. The black robes he wore didn't really startle Harry so much as his expression. It was peaceful and soft, more relaxed in death than he had ever seen him in life. Hermione gasped and clutched tightly onto Harry's arm, burying her face in his shoulder.

Further into the room, one of the Aurors was levitating another body, covered in the bright floral chintz that Harry recognised as the kitchen tablecloth. He didn't have a clue who it was, but from the dark robes billowing out the bottom, he had a feeling that it was someone who deserved it.

Beyond this was a small circle of people gathered around another body. Mr Weasley turned around from where he was standing in the circle and looked at Harry, beckoning him closer with a relieved expression on his face. Harry dropped Hermione's hand and shuffled forward, almost afraid to look, afraid that he would see red hair again. But no, it was another black robed figure, his body thin and twisted, blood congealed on the floor underneath him.

Harry recognised Voldemort immediately.

The corpse looked dry and the skin cracked in places like an old leather book someone had forgotten to oil. From under the slanted eyelids, Harry could see a glimpse of red.

"W-who—" Harry swallowed, taking a deep breath and looking around for Hermione. Mr Weasley patted him on the shoulder to get his attention, pointing over to where Ron was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his dead brother.

"Ron did this? He killed—" Harry had felt sick then, barely able to keep from throwing up his guilt for all to see. Hermione had come over finally and was gripping his arm, staring mutely at Lord Voldemort's mortal remains.

Mr Weasley nodded, wiping his face with the hem of his sleeve. "We were quite worried about you, Harry. But I'm glad to see that you're all right now." He glanced up and studied Harry shrewdly for a moment before gazing fixedly at some point on the wall. "Why did you leave?"

"I . . ." Harry trailed off, unable to say that it had all been because of something so stupid and trivial as a fight.

Mr Weasley turned and was staring hard at him now, his eyes not exactly sympathetic. "You were under my care for the holidays, you and Hermione both. You had no right to leave without telling us. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could have found you wandering out in the snow. You would be dead and it would be my fault."

"I left you a note, sir," Harry mumbled.

"A note?" He asked incredulously. Mr Weasley's face was flushed and irritated looking. "You left us a note? You couldn't even come and tell us to our faces that you were leaving; taking Hermione with you and risking her life, too?"

It had struck Harry then just how stupid he had been. Instead of keeping Hermione safe, she could have been in even more danger than before. Mr Weasley wasn't looking at them now; he was staring at Ron.

"I'm sending you both back to Hogwarts. Maybe Dumbledore will be able to convince you of the seriousness of what you've done. I'm very disappointed in you, Harry. This lack of respect on your part is something I won't tolerate. I can't accept responsibility for your welfare when you deliberately put yourself in harm's way. And—" The man dropped his gaze to the floor, tightening his lips. "And you're no longer welcome here; at least not for a while. Perhaps in a few months when you've learnt some respect and you can show me that you really are the Harry I knew, then we'll see."

Mr Weasley still wouldn't look at him. Harry felt a tear slip down his cheek and Hermione was riveted to his side, frozen in horror. This man had been a father to him, and his wife a mother. And now they were rejecting him all because of one stupid mistake.

"Harry? Harry," Hermione said into his ear.

Harry looked around and he realised that he was still staring at the fire, which had banked down to embers. He was in the common room, and Hermione was here. He looked up to see her twining her fingers through the gold chain around her neck; playing with the amber heart he'd finally given her a few days after Christmas. He had known that the tiny insect trapped inside would appeal to her scientific nature while the warm amber represented her heart, as silly as it sounded. And she was showing that to him now. It was in her eyes, her concern for him and her love. Hermione would always be here to wrap him like that insect with her tenderness and heat and—

"Harry, are you all right?"

He sighed and shook his head to clear it of the images of Voldemort and Mr Weasley that flooded back with her words. "I'm fine. I was just thinking."

Hermione sat down beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder. "You were thinking about Christmas again, weren't you?"

She never referred to it as ‘the day Voldemort died' or ‘the day the Weasleys kicked him out of their family', it was always just ‘Christmas'. Harry nodded, reaching over to hold her hand.

It all felt so horribly wrong. He was supposed to kill Voldemort, he was supposed to risk his life for everyone else, and it was what he had prepared himself for for years. Harry squeezed Hermione's hand a little tighter, not realising that he was hurting her until she gasped.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, dropping her hand. "I'm sorry for all of this. Ron shouldn't have had to kill Voldemort. I should have been there."

Hermione sighed and reached up to pull his cheek down to lie on the top of her head. Her fingers were warm on his scalp and he almost moaned at the pleasure of that one simple act.

"There isn't anything you can do now. Ron killed him and he'll never bother us again. So what if it wasn't you? You weren't born just to kill Voldemort; you've other purposes in life I'm sure."

"Yeah," Harry laughed unexpectedly, and Hermione glanced up at the bitter sound. "But I'm supposed to be the hero, remember?"

Hermione sat up straight and pulled away. Harry felt cold inside again at her withdrawal. "Is that what bothers you so much? That Ron is being praised and petted when you aren't?"

Harry shook his head, frustrated with himself. "No, that isn't it. Ron deserves all of that, and he earned it. I just— it's as if I don't know what to do with my life now, Hermione. Voldemort is gone and I concentrated on him for so long— I never actually expected to live past a certain age, so now I have to figure out what to do now that my life expectancy has gone up."

"So you're angry because you're still alive?" Hermione clucked her tongue. "Honestly, Harry. You were going to be an Auror weren't you? I mean, we've both been accepted and it seems silly for you to change your mind now."

"I'm not changing my mind, I just don't see the point in it. Voldemort's dead and almost all of the Death Eaters have been rounded up, so what's left to fight? Why be an Auror when there's nothing to do?"

Hermione sighed and plucked at his sleeve absently. "Harry, there will always be evil to fight somewhere. Voldemort wasn't the only evil thing on earth. There are dark wizards everywhere who aren't even connected to him, and innocent people out there need protection from them. Protection only you can give."

Harry raised his eyebrows, but still felt a bit sceptical. He also felt more than a little foolish and Hermione had spoken to him in a tone one might use with a child who was being unreasonable. That in particular annoyed him to no end. She was right, of course, and he knew it. But that didn't mean he had to give up the small voice of immaturity he'd managed to hold onto just yet. He was only seventeen and he had a right to it, after all.

"I still don't know. Maybe I should give the whole thing up and do something else. There's still that letter from the Wimbourne Wasps. I could be a Quidditch star."

She penetrated him with a piercing stare from under her eyebrows. "Harry, you get flustered when someone recognises you now. Can you imagine how it would be if you were a Quidditch star? You'd have people mobbing you worse than they do already. And," Hermione added almost to herself. "Girls would start popping out of closets and such. It would be dreadful."

He blinked at her for a moment before laughing and pulling her close. "You're jealous of some imaginary girls, aren't you?"

Hermione blushed, smiling a little. "I suppose that's silly, isn't it?"

"Very silly," Harry agreed, more cheered now than he had been in a while. "So what has you awake so early in the morning?"

Hermione glanced at the clock and her mouth dropped open. "It's almost ten o' clock! Why did you let me sleep so late?"

"You looked peaceful. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Oh," Hermione said, closing her mouth. "Well, I actually came down to see if you had any Flobberworms. I'm out."

"Did you check my potions kit?"

"Yes."

Harry frowned. "Then why are you asking me for Flobberworms if you've already looked. It isn't as if I keep them in my pocket."

Hermione sighed and picked at his sleeve again. "Just thought I would ask," she mumbled, glancing up at him surreptitiously from under her eyelashes.

"You want me to go down to Hagrid's cabin, in the snow, and get them for you." Harry guessed.

She smiled. "You know me too well."

Harry raised his eyebrows and she grinned. "Please? You're already dressed and everything."

Mumbling to himself, Harry stood up and looked around for his overshoes. "I suppose it wouldn't kill me. What do you need them for anyway?"

Hermione laughed. "I need them for the potion, you know which one I mean."

"Oh," Harry said, cottoning on. "That really is necessary. You don't have anymore of the one Ginny gave you?"

"No, I ran out yesterday. But she gave me the formula, so I don't have to worry about hunting it down."

Harry nodded. "Well, give me a kiss at least before you send me out to catch my death of cold."

She stood up and smacked him soundly on the lips, wrapping him up in a heavy wool cloak. "Don't be long, love. This is our last day before everyone comes back to school and the house is full again."

"I know. After tomorrow you have to go back to your room. I'll miss you terribly then."

"I'll still be here, Harry. I just won't be able to sleep in your bed anymore."

Harry nodded grumpily and gave her another kiss before walking out the portrait hole.

"Stupid rules," he rumbled to himself. "This year'll take forever to end."

Still bemoaning the unfairness of it all, Harry stomped through the snow down to Hagrid's cabin. There was smoke curling from the chimney and he would be grateful to get inside and out of the cold. He knocked on the thick oak door and stamped his feet to keep them from freezing while he waited for Hagrid to open it.

When the door creaked and Hagrid appeared, Harry frowned. "What's wrong, Hagrid? Are you sick?"

Hagrid's face was an unhealthy shade of grey and his beard was more unkempt than usual and quite greasy looking. It appeared that he hadn't left his cabin or done anything with himself for at least a week or more.

"Hullo, Harry. I'm jus' a bit under the weather. Did yeh need summat?"

"Hermione sent me down for some Flobberworms, she's out," Harry said slowly, thinking it peculiar that Hagrid hadn't invited him in for tea by now.

Hagrid nodded and closed the door, returning after a moment with a box of frozen Flobberworms in his hand. He gave them to Harry. "If I'm no' here, yeh can alwas dig up the back trench fer more. Sorry I can' let yeh in ter chat an all, I migh' be catchin'. Don' want yeh sick."

"I understand. Have you been to see Madame Pomfrey? I'm sure she has something for whatever it is you have."

Hagrid shook his head. "I'll be righ' as rain soon enuff. But uh—" He glanced around as if looking for someone before continuing. "If anythin' happens ter me, take care o' Fang fer me, will yeh?"

"If anything— Hagrid, are you sure you're all right? I think I should take you to the Infirmary and let Madame Pomfrey have a look. You don't sound good."

Hagrid shook his head again, not budging an inch on the matter. "Don' worry abou' me. Jus' remember what I said, Harry."

And the door was closed in his face.

Harry stood there for a moment, blinking away the harsh glare from the sunlight on the snow reflected against the thick shiny door of Hagrid's cabin. Something was very wrong. The feeling that had all but disappeared with Voldemort's death started creeping up again. Maybe Hermione was right, there was still something left to fight.

*~*~*~*~*

Ron smiled broadly and leaned back against the cushy seat in his own private compartment on the Hogwarts Express. At least it was supposed to be private, but somehow, several very pretty girls had managed to find him anyway. And there they were, clustered around him like a garden of flowers and chattering away animatedly.

"So you really did it? Kill him, I mean," one of them asked, her curly black hair glistening in the sunlight pouring through the window.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah, I cracked him good. Voldemort was just a scared little baby."

The girls all gasped and leaned closer. "Oh you said His name, how dreadful!" One of them whispered in his ear.

"You're so brave," another girl sighed.

"He wasn't a big deal, I think. He looked like a skeleton and sounded like a pennywhistle." Ron waved his hand as if dismissing the whole affair.

They all giggled, leaning closer. Ron was quickly running out of room. If they didn't back up, his lap would be full of women. Not that he seemed to mind.

He grinned and held up his hands to back them off. "Easy now, I won't be able to breathe in a minute!"

"We're so sorry, Ronny! Come on now, behave yourself," a blonde girl with bright blue eyes said, swatting at some of the other females who were practically on top of him. "Tell us more," she pleaded, her eyes gleaming like very round, shiny buttons.

Ron looked over her head and winked at Ginny, who was sitting across from him. She snorted and dug into her bag for a book, mumbling to herself. He shrugged and continued with his story.

"Well," he said, putting his finger to his lips in mock thought. "I held my wand high, like this!"

Ron shot up and brandished his wand for all to see, swishing it dramatically. They all oohed and aahed, clapping their hands with glee as he acted out a false play on the events of Christmas morning before taking his seat again.

"Then I poked him in the eye with my wand and said: ‘Don't touch my sister!' Before he could do anything else, I yelled out the killing curse and he went splat against the wall."

"You saved your sister!" A girl breathed in dramatically, the action pushing her breasts out and closer to Ron's face, before turning to look at Ginny. "Aren't you proud of him?"

Ginny lifted one eyebrow but said nothing, not even bothering to lift her head from the book she was reading. This was quickly becoming unbearable. At least Harry had never played to the crowd like this. He always discouraged the silly-headed chippies and arse-lickers that trailed after him like loyal sheep. Ron on the other hand . . .

She looked up then to see that two of the girls actually had climbed into his lap now instead of just threatening to do so. They were cooing in a sickening manner and petting his face and hair while several more were stroking his arms: a regular harem.

Ginny put away her book and came to her feet, picking up her satchel to find another compartment. There was no way she could possibly study in here with that going on.

"Oi! Gin," Ron yelled out behind her. "Where're you going?

She didn't bother answering, but instead pulled the door closed behind her, rattling the glass in its frame. Ginny walked a ways, her head still down until she bumped into someone. She looked up to apologise, but her breath was taken away and she dropped her books to hug the person close.

"Colin!" she squealed, wrapping her arms around his thin chest. "It's so good to see you." Her muffled voice sounded against his jumper. She could hear the rumble of laughter as he pulled her tight and gave a sound kiss to the top of her head.

"I've missed you, too, you little hag."

Ginny pulled away and swatted at him playfully before retrieving her books. "Prat."

"I know. I'm rotten, aren't I?" He grinned, looking down at her from his lofty height of about five-foot eight. Colin's wispy brown hair was falling into his eyes and he pushed it back with a casual flick of his fingers.

Ginny put her hands on her hips and pursed her mouth before giving up and breaking into a smile. "I've so much to tell you."

Colin raised his eyebrows. "I've heard most of it already, several versions in fact."

"You won't have heard the one I'm going to tell you."

Colin glanced around before pulling Ginny into his own compartment. It had remained mostly empty except for two terrified looking first years.

"Out of here, you lot," he said, shooing them away. Once the two girls had run out, he sat down and motioned for Ginny to sit beside him. "So tell me what really happened. For some reason, I can't imagine your brother killing You-Know-Who with a well-aimed piece of toast."

Ginny giggled. "Hardly. Ron was just telling a gaggle of girls in his compartment how he poked the Dark Lord in the eye and killed him with a flick of his wand."

Colin laughed, slapping his leg. "That's a good one."

"I know, he's a huge head about it all now. He's even taken to saying His name."

Colin whistled. "Wow, I didn't know he had it in him."

"I know." Ginny smirked. "You should hear some of the stories he's telling everyone."

"I think I already have. So go on," Colin said, leaning back against the window to face her, his hands behind his head. "Tell me what really happened."

"Well, you must make sure that this doesn't go beyond us. We're not supposed to tell anyone what really happened as they're trying to keep it quiet for various reasons. But I know you'll sit on it." Ginny inhaled deeply. "On Christmas morning . . ."

So Ginny told him about Christmas day, and how Ron had killed Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy. She couldn't bring herself to talk about Percy, and she left out obvious details of what had occurred after the Aurors arrived. But Colin lifted his eyebrow and pierced her with a stare.

"I heard that Draco Malfoy stayed at your house over the holidays, but you didn't mention him at all."

"Oh, didn't I?" She flustered, gazing at a point somewhere below Colin's eyes, which happened to be his nose. "I must have forgotten. He really wasn't that important to the whole thing anyway." Ginny smiled weakly.

Colin wouldn't let it go though and he kept after her about it. "I smell something here," he said, dropping his arms and leaning forward. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," Ginny insisted, her eyes rounded with feigned innocence as she continued to stare at his nose.

"You can't even look me in the eye, Gin. What have you been up to over the hols?"

Ginny sighed in exasperation and aimed a glare at him. "It's not as if I'm proud of this, mind, so don't tell anyone what I'm about to say."

Colin smirked. "What'd you do, snog him or something?"

Ginny looked him directly in the eye then, not blinking until Colin gasped and sat back, understanding at last that she meant something more than a little kiss.

"You didn't! With him? Are you mad?"

"Shh," she hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard, even though they were alone. The walls seemed to have ears lately and Ginny was anxious. "Yes, I did."

"Why though? I mean—"

"I don't know! He was there and, well, it just seemed like the thing to do."

"With your mortal enemy? You do remember that he was the one who sold those pictures of you, don't you? He's a Malfoy, for ABBA's sake!"

Ginny wrinkled her brow. "Who?"

"Never mind that. Look." Colin lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes. "You're biting off more than you can chew here, Gin-girl. This isn't like the innocent tumbles we had; he's dangerous."

"You think I don't know that?" she snapped, pulling away. She couldn't look at him anymore, not when he still had that betrayed look on his face. It wasn't as if Colin felt something for her other than a very deep friendship, but she knew he was horrified all the same.

"Why did you do it then? And you brewed the potion at least, right? Please tell me that you did because I don't think I'd be able to handle you getting preg—"

"Yes." Ginny cut him off by clamping her hand over his mouth. "Of course I did, I'm not stupid."

Colin was still looking at her. She knew that if he kept it up, she'd spill and it would be over. Sucking in a breath, Ginny told him everything: all the flirting, the thing about Lucius and her brother, Draco's reaction to that, and the bathroom scene.

"So he attacked you in the bathroom then? I'll kill—"

"No!" Ginny shook her head in exasperation. It really was a relief to finally tell someone other than Hermione what had been pressing on her mind, but it was difficult to form the words sometimes when even she didn't know what she'd been thinking. "You don't understand, Colin. We didn't do anything more than snog there. We did it later that night in his bedroom. And he didn't attack me, either, it was more like— well, I jumped on him."

Colin's eyes rounded to something close to saucer sized while she continued. "And I don't know why I did it. I mean, I don't even like him and I certainly don't love him."

Colin seemed to visibly relax then, patting her hand. "It's one of those then. Don't worry about it so much. You'll forget eventually and everything will be right as rain. Too bad you weren't so aggressive when we were messing around or I might be straight now." His lips quirked then as he fought a smile. "So how was it?"

"Colin!" Ginny gasped, her mouth hanging open. "How could you ask me that? I don‘t ask you about your sex life, do I?"

"That's because you told me once that you were fine with me being gay as long as you didn't have to hear the naughty details of it. I, on the other hand, don't give a fig and I'm an overly curious bastard."

"Oh right," she said, biting her lip in embarrassment.

"So?" he prodded, nudging her leg with his knee.

"All right!" Ginny burst out. "It was good, really good. In fact, I think I'm still bruised."

"Oooh," Colin said, perking up a bit. "Like that, eh? I wonder if he'd fancy a frolic with me down by the lake. You know, like father, like—"

Ginny smacked him on the side of the head and stood up, stamping on his foot for good measure. "Don't you dare start on him! That would be too mean and I wonder why I ever told you anything in the first place."

Colin was stuck between cradling his head and massaging his foot. "All right, all right. I won't say anything. I thought you didn't like him?"

Ginny flounced back on the seat and crossed her arms, staring at Colin's shoulder. "I don't," she said flatly.

"Mmmn hmmn, don't worry chicken, I believe you." Colin winked at her outrageously and Ginny couldn't help but grin.

"You're impossible."

"I know." Colin smiled, laying a finger by his nose and crinkling his eyes. "It's part of my charm."

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